Hitchin' A Ride
by Bekki Beekeeper
Summary: Jack wants Sam to go fishing, but this time she's prepared a distraction. Fluffy angst. SJ.


**Title:** Hitchin' A Ride  
**Pairing:** Sam/Jack  
**Category:** Fluffy angst. Angsty fluff. (Somebody really should burn those regs.)  
**Season:** Four (any time after 'The Curse' - remember the bike?)  
**Summary:** Jack wants Sam to go fishing, but this time she's prepared a distraction.

_**Disclaimer:** I don't like Disclaimers. They remind me that these characters aren't mine. They're not, of course; they belong to the lucky Stargate people like Gekko Corp. _

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**Hitchin' A Ride**

"Fishing?"

The question called Sam back to face the hopeful expression of her superior. His optimistic smile was a transparent attempt to masquerade as casual, despite the underlying plea in his tone. Sam, who had quickly learnt the art of seeing through this particular façade, could feel only sympathy.

It was becoming ever more difficult to turn him down. She almost wished he would stop asking, because they both knew that she had to say no. One day, in the future - another four years, maybe - she would be able to grin and say how much she'd like that; but for now, it was something that would have to wait.

Still, she always found it painful to see something fade from his eyes when she made her excuses. That was why she had come prepared this time.

"Actually, sir…" she began. His eyes lit in the hope of a positive response, only to be dimmed as she continued, "I was kind of hoping to try out my new toy."

"Let me guess." His light-hearted tone was undermined by the barely detectable trace of a sigh. "Naquadah reactor? Microscope? _Magnets_?"

She grinned. "Not quite."

Dazed by her blinding smile and bemused by the mischievous glint in her eye, Jack could only oblige when she beckoned him to follow. They had ascended twenty-eight levels and stepped out in the fresh spring air before Jack observed,

"This isn't your lab."

"No sir, it isn't," Sam agreed, apparently rather cheerful that he'd noticed. He looked at her uneasily.

"Hey, if this is some attempt to rub in the fact my car is off the road, I swear that tree jumped right out in front of me." He paused to look around. "Carter," he said slowly, "where's your Mustang?"

"At home."

And just as he was wondering why there was an Indian motorcycle sitting in Sam's parking space, she strode over to it and produced a helmet.

"So _that's_ why you're wearing leather." He'd started to think she was doing it just to spite him. "Wait… did you build that?" It was a fair guess, considering her proud smile.

"Sort of. Sergeant Siler gave me a hand."

"Ah." That made sense. He had wondered why Siler kept emerging from Sam's lab with suspicious stains; he'd almost begun to get worried.

_And boy did she look good in leather._ It was probably exceptionally wrong that however sexy she looked, he actually really wanted to take her clothes _off_, rather than leave them in their privileged position…

"How about it, sir?"

He blinked, jolted back out of his forbidden thoughts. "Um. What?"

"A ride."

"Excuse me?"

"On the motorcycle." Sam was looking at him curiously. "Sir?"

"Oh! Yeah. Right." He laughed; she raised her eyebrows; he stopped. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course." And the next thing Jack knew, the helmet had left her hands and was soaring through the air towards him; he reached out and caught it automatically. Sam was already donning a second helmet, and it occurred to him that she must have planned this.

_Wow. Who'd have thought?_

"Ever ridden a motorbike before, sir?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, Carter…" He slid on the helmet and made sure it was secure. "I have."

Sam laughed as he struck up a pose, visor down, hands on hips. Shaking her head in mock exasperation, she mounted the bike and started the engine with intense satisfaction. Jack took his place behind her; she felt his firm grasp on her waist and smiled.

Moments later, they were hurtling off down the mountain, exhilarated beyond belief. Jack gave a triumphant yell and in front of him Sam grinned to herself. Definitely better than fishing.

It wasn't long before they'd left Cheyenne Mountain far behind. Ascending another steep slope, Jack's grip tightened as they swung around a sharp bend; they were gaining speed, the thrill intensifying…

The engine cut out.

They slowed to a trundle before finally stopping on the grassy side of the road. Sam dismounted the motorcycle without a word, but as she removed her helmet Jack could see the frown on her face.

"What is it?" he asked as he climbed off the bike. It seemed to be the wrong question to ask, however, because Sam didn't respond for a long time. Momentarily distracted from his confused, leather-clad 2IC, Jack turned towards the edge of the mountain road.

"I'm not sure," Sam sighed at last, "which isn't great, considering we're stuck in the middle of nowhere."

"Apparently, the Middle of Nowhere has a great view."

Jack turned and beckoned Sam away from the stationary machine. Curiosity getting the better of her, the frustrated scientist left her practical problem and joined her superior on the lush grass verge.

"Wow."

He smiled at her reaction. The mountainside was carpeted by majestic evergreens that extended far into the valley below; and through that same valley ran a river, gently shimmering in the quick-dying light of dusk. As Sam looked down upon the vale, Jack raised his eyes to the heavens. A distant star emerged with a shy glimmer.

"Yep," Jack commented, "this is what the Goa'uld really want – this and Minnesota."

"I sometimes forget we're not just fighting for a place to exist." Sam's eyes were still cast out amongst the trees. "We're fighting for home."

"That's why you should come fishing," Jack told her. "Nature's one of those things in the Universe that deserves proper appreciation."

She drew her gaze away from the view. "Sir-"

"It's okay," Jack murmured, assurance soft in his eyes. "You don't have to explain yourself to me." Carefully, he sat. For a moment Sam lingered, still standing. She suddenly felt awkward - but she couldn't honestly say there was anywhere else she'd rather be at that moment. Holding on tight to that thought, she sat down beside him on the grassy ledge.

"I understand, you know," he said, glancing towards her.

"I know." She offered up a sad smile; and right then, he wished he could tell her just how beautiful she was. "Thank you."

He didn't bother asking what for. It was one of the many unspoken considerations they had for each other, and every expression of gratitude touched as deeply as every heartfelt apology. She was thanking him for understanding. She was thanking him for being there and thanking him for being who he was. Those subtle expressions were the most they could offer one another, and it was a cruel comfort.

Jack was never sure how long they spent on the mountainside, but it was dark by the time he decided to break the tender silence.

"Guess I better call the SGC before it gets too cold."

Beside him, Sam shook her head, determination in her eyes. "Let me have another look, sir. I think I know what's gone wrong." He couldn't argue with that. She rose and, with only moonlight to help her, set to work. A mere ten minutes later, the engine leapt into life.

"We're good to go now, sir," Sam called. Jack got to his feet and stretched, scratching his headful of helmet hair.

"So let me get this straight," he said: "you're an Air Force major, a theoretical astrophysicist _and_ a motorbike mechanic. Carter, are you sure you're not secretly an Asgard in disguise?"

"If I was, sir," Sam replied with a smile, "I don't think the bike would have broken down in the first place."

"Maybe you planned it."

She laughed at that, melodious in the crisp evening air. He grinned and mounted the bike behind her, shuffling a little closer than he had been before; his thumbs, on her waist, took a moment to sweep gently over the leather of her jacket.

"Sir?"

His fingers froze. "What?"

She turned her head and gave him a dazzling smile. "Your helmet."

He looked over to where the helmet lay, on the grass near where they'd been sitting. "Crap." Sighing loudly, Jack dismounted. Sam watched as he strode over to collect it, securing her own helmet as she did so. A moment later he was back on the motorcycle with her, hands confident and trusting at her waist.

"Ready, Colonel?"

"Sure am, Major," he told her, feigning seriousness. "Time to burn some serious asphalt."

"Rubber."

"Whatever."

Sam chuckled to herself and snapped her visor down; she heard Jack do the same. She revved the engine and they set off down the mountain, the stars burning strong in the heavens above.

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**The End.**


End file.
